AN: Sorry for the wait everyone! Finals had come along, and I had gotten sick the week before. And last weekend I didn't have time to work on this chapter at all. *sigh* Well, its finally done though! Thank you to everyone who favourited/reviewed this story! I was pretty happy when I got so many encouraging me to continue this! Enjoy this chapter. I hope it makes up for the long wait.
Disclaimer: Don't own anything.
Alfred could only stare and gape. The boy in front of him was smirking, laughing slightly. Sitting completely still with the teen on top of him still, he stared at who was in front of him. The green eyes, the messy blond hair, the large eyebrows… It couldn't possibly be anyone else! But how could it be him?
The short boy laughed, still not looking at America properly. "You should have seen your face, France! It was priceless! I can't believe you freaked out like that, frog! How pathe—"
Alfred looked up at Arthur's face. The smaller nation was gaping, his face pale, having finally looked at the American's face properly. His eyes were wide and he stuttered to find cohesive words. England just stared at America, unable to comprehend what he was looking at—just like America couldn't figure out what he was looking at while gazing at the child's face. Arthur finally managed to form words, it seemed, just as Alfred was going to speak again.
"W-wait a minute… Y-you aren't Francis… W-who-?" he spluttered out, unable to finish his sentence at first. "Who the bloody hell are you?" he managed, his voice cracking a little. Within an instant, America found the weight on his hips gone, and looked to see a younger England jumping up and running off, trying to find a door or window to escape out of.
Soon, Alfred was off the floor as well, chasing after the small boy. "H-hey! Wait up!" he called, trying to catch the lithe teen. God dammit, that kid was fast. After a few minutes of chasing, Alfred finally caught Arthur by the collar of his shirt, yanking the thin teen back and closing his arms around him, preventing him from escaping. Arthur struggled and squirmed in the American's grip, hissing curses in English and another language Alfred failed to identify, twisting this way and that, trying to slip out of his grip, but failed.
Arthur's green eyes gleamed in annoyance at being caught. Turning the lithe boy to face him, Alfred finally got a good look at England. He was much shorter, that was for sure; maybe about five feet and three inches, but he couldn't be sure. Arthur was wearing a long sleeved, white tunic—similar to those America had seen in movies like "Robin Hood" and other animation he had seen. He also wore light brown pants and black boots that almost went up to his knee. A black belt was secured around his waist over the white shirt that had not been tucked in. Draped over his shoulders was a hooded green cloak. Only now had Alfred noticed the bow slung around Arthur's shoulders and the quiver at the belt around his hips.
America hated to admit this, but England looked impressive—defiant eyes glaring up at him with the spirit of a lion, a sleek body, dressed in such light-weight and unrestrictive clothing, a longbow and a quiver of arrows completing the look of a professional archer. Only this archer was a thirteen year old boy.
Shaking his head, Alfred cleared his head of these thoughts. He had to focus on how the hell England had ended up like this. But first thing to do: find out how much the kid knows.
Taking a deep breath, America started his interrogation.
"Alright. Enough running away, got it? I'm just going to ask you a couple of questions, and I want you to answer them," he started professionally, hoping to come off as a lawyer of some sort. All he received was a venomous glare from the teenager standing in front of him.
He sighed, realizing he probably wouldn't get far with this interrogation. Time to call France, he figured. Keeping a grip on Arthur's cloak, Alfred took out his cell phone and dialed Francis's number. He looked back at England, who now had a scowl decorating his young features. Even with a scowl, Arthur looked pretty cute like that, he thought. Wait… Where had that come from? Oh well. Alfred tapped his foot impatiently as he waited for France to pick up his cell phone.
Laughter rang throughout the room, bottles of alcohol on the table, glasses filled. Francis picked up his glass of wine, raising it to Gilbert and Antonio. The Bad Touch Trio had finally managed to get together again for a drink, having not had the chance to go out like this for a long time. Glasses clinked, and the liquid ran down their throats. Setting his half empty glass down, Francis chuckled.
"It has been a while, no?" he stated, starting up a conversation. "I'm so glad I could get together with you both."
Prussia and Spain just laughed and nodded, the albino wearing a devious smirk. "It's because you're both way too busy being countries or molesting someone else!" he laughed, receiving sarcastically hurt stares from the two nations. Just as Antonio was about to say something, Francis's cell phone went off.
Sighing, the French man took his phone out of his pocket and looked at the caller ID. Alfred? What could he want? "Ah~ It is Amérique," he informed his companions. Prussia and Spain looked at each other with confused glances. Leaning forward, Antonio asked,
"Alfred? Why would he be calling you?" His question was answered with a shrug as France answered the phone, ending the ringing that didn't seem like it would have stopped any time soon had they ignored it.
"Mon cher Amérique," Francis purred. "What entices you to call me? I'm busy at the moment."
There was an annoyed huff from the other end, following with a quick shout that seemed distant, but in a familiar voice that was not Alfred's. "Francis, I need you to come to Arthur's house now," America demanded. "Something really weird has happened to him."
Francis raised a brow, sending a confused glance over to the Prussian and Spaniard across from him. "What do you mean, Amérique? Has something bad happened to mon cher Angleterre?" he asked, a bit worried. Something extremely worrying or extremely urgent must have happened if France had been called, of all nations. Spain and Prussia exchanged somewhat worried glances at each other upon hearing France's words. Something had happened to the grumpy Brit? What could have possibly been .
"Well, y'see, Francis…" America started, trailing off, trying to find the right words. "England has, well… shrunk…"
The Frenchman gaped. What had America just said? He shook his head slightly, convinced he had heard things. "Je suis désolé, Alfred. But I don't believe I heard you right. Angleterre shrunk? He must have just messed up another spell. I'm sure mon petit lapin can fix it himself," he replied.
Shifting could be heard on the other side of the line. "Well, no… That isn't really it. Could you possibly explain why England has… turned into a child?"
Silence. Francis was shocked at the American's words. How…? He shook his head. He needed to get to Arthur's house now. "I'll be there as quickly as I can," he told Alfred, hearing a relieved sigh from the other end. A quick 'see you soon' and France had hung up and stood.
"Oi! Where the hell are you going, Francis? We just got started here!" Prussia whined, wanting to get back to drinking like they had been before.
"Ah… About that. There is a problem at Angleterre's home, and I must help out. I don't think Amérique would be able to handle the situation properly." France was just about to walk out the door when Spain had grabbed his arm. Francis looked at the Spaniard, confusion written in his expression.
"We shall come as well then, amigo. I've known Inglaterra almost as long as you. I have a right to know what is wrong, ¿comprende?" Francis just nodded at his friend, leading the Prussian and Spaniard out of the bar and to the port, where they would get on a ship and head to England's home.
Alfred ended the call and put away his cell phone, still gripping the fabric of the teen's cloak. He looked at Arthur in the eyes, trying to find any sign that the child still knew about the modern world. No avail; the kid's eyes were wise, but not as wise as they were as an adult. Sighing, the American decided to tell the young Briton that France was coming.
"Hey. France is going to be coming over, alright?" At the statement, Arthur began spewing curses no thirteen-year-old should have known.
"Bloody hell, are you stupid? Why did you fucking go and do that? I don't want the bloody frog here! He's a fucking wanker! You're a fucking moron! Fuck off and go to hell, git!" he spat at Alfred, a venomous scowl decorating his face. Arthur yelled more in a language America did not understand. When had England become bilingual? America thought to himself.
Suddenly, there was an intense pain in Alfred's right foot. Letting go of the Brit, Alfred held his foot and shouted a curse, clutching it in pain.
Arthur took advantage of the sudden freedom and made a break for it, escaping out of Alfred's reach and racing towards the front door. The small teen flung the door open and dashed out, smacking head-first into someone else. Toppling to the ground in a heap, the Briton held his forehead and glared up at who had ruined his escape. Eyes widening slightly, England had a horrible feeling enter his system. Staring down at him was Francis; behind the Frenchman, Gilbert and Antonio. Arthur's stomach twisted in horror as he found himself staring up at the three people he had been hoping not to run in to. Curse his bloody luck.
France was the first to speak. "Mon petit lapin… Y-you really are a child again!"
Translations:
French
Angleterre: England
Mon petit lapin: My little bunny
Mon cher: My dear
Amérique: America
Je suis désolé: I'm sorry.
Spanish
Amigo: Friend
Inglaterra: England
¿Comprende?: Understand?
